


Hug and Comfort

by jaimistoryteller



Series: Baker Street Polyamory [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gender Related Hate Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4015945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimistoryteller/pseuds/jaimistoryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly feels depressed over a bunch of meaningless deaths and Greg gives her comfort</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hug and Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Rare Pair Bingo-Word: Damp
> 
> Tumblr about my stories: [JaimiStoryTeller](http://jaimistoryteller.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for any form of communication, I love it and it keeps me writing!
> 
> Set in Baker Street Polyamory in the future sometime
> 
> Thank you to NoOrdinarySouthernGirl for her help figuring out what I was doing with this prompt!

Molly’s POV  
These were the ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth victims of the killer going after non-binary individuals. Three of them were young, children almost. All four of the men she was going to marry because of the new law were hunting the killer. Both Mycroft and Sherlock were convinced they were after a single serial killer, while Greg was not so sure. John doesn’t care how many there are, just that they are found and dealt with. She’s fairly certain that the spook and soldier-doctor’s idea of ‘dealt with’ involves the killer ending up dead. 

After wrapping up the autopsies on each of them, noting that they had all died of various poisons like the original eight victims, she has the assistants and trainees put them into their respective storage spots while she does the paperwork. 

Normally her job brings her pleasure, but with so many children and teens having passed through lately for no more reason than someone hated the fact they were not the standard male or female, she was depressed. 

Settling at her desk, she tries not to think of the killings and those who have died because of hate. Instead, she tries to think of her upcoming date with John. It doesn’t work. Her mind keeps drifting back to the three laying in her morgue and the fact they will never have to deal with this law because they will never be given a chance to finish growing up. 

Groaning she presses the palms of her hands against her eyes for a long moment. When she opens them up again, it is in shock as a pair of firm arms with a familiar scent gently hug her.

Turning slightly, she finds herself pressed against the solid chest of the detective inspector she’s engaged to.

“Hey sweetheart, you look a bit sad, can I help?” he murmurs comfortingly against her forehead. 

Of the four she was to marry, only the detective inspector called her pet names. The boffin would often refer to her by her first name, sometimes her middle name, though where he learned that she does not know. The other doctor always called her by her first name, though using different tones based on mood and purpose gave it a wealth of meanings. The politician usually called her by her title or by her last name despite the fact that she had asked him to use her first name.

“Please tell me you’re not bringing me any more children,” she mutters in response as she presses her ear against his chest and listens to his heartbeat. She knows there are tears running down her face, making her skin damp but she cannot stop herself, and is not even sure she wants to when someone she trusts is offering her comfort.

She feels, more than hears, the sigh as his arms tighten slightly, gentle lips press against the crown of her head, “No more children sweetheart, I just thought you might forget to eat the lunch I am sure is sitting around here somewhere.” There is compassion and amusement in his tone. 

Lifting her head, she smiles at him after giving him a quick hug in response.

With a feathery touch, he wipes her damp cheeks off before pressing his lips gently to her forehead. 

“Come on sweetheart, let’s go eat in the park, you’ll feel better for it,” he suggests with a soft smile. 

Nodding, the two of them leave the smaller morgue office to go to her main office upstairs where she discovers not one, but two bags of food. Confused, she glances at the silver-haired copper, noticing the grin curving his lips while he shakes his head. 

“Our stalker has decided that we should eat together,” he remarks playfully. 

“Stalker?” she repeats, the sadness beginning to withdraw, “Do you mean Mycroft?”

“That’d be the one. I wave at cameras from time to time because Annie says he blushes every time I do,” the older man states as he picks up the bags and motions to the door. 

As they turn towards the door, the detective inspector states calmly with a core of steel to his tone, “We haven’t caught him yet, but with both Holmes brothers hunting him, there is little to no chance that the killer will get away. No matter who catches him, the results will be the same; he’ll not hurt anyone else.”

She blinks at him for a long moment before nodding slowly. 

Moments later the two of them quickly leave the morgue, entering the bright sunlight to chase away whatever else remains to sadden her. Things aren’t better, but they will get there.


End file.
